


Five People Claude Couldn't (or Wouldn't) Save

by Sandoz (Sandoz_Iscariot17)



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Abduction, Angst, Conspiracy, Gen, Introspection, Original Character(s), Superheroes, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-27
Updated: 2011-06-27
Packaged: 2017-10-20 18:40:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/215903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandoz_Iscariot17/pseuds/Sandoz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five stories from the past, present, and future of the Invisible Man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five People Claude Couldn't (or Wouldn't) Save

**Author's Note:**

> Heroes and its characters are the property of Tim Kring and NBC.

1.

There was a man in Phoenix whose blood had turned to acid.

Claude ripped him, naked and screaming, from his shower stall, and Bennet administered the tranquilizer at the base of the man’s neck.

His cries persisted long after he was taken deep inside the Company’s walls. He begged for his life right before he was opened up: _“Don’t cut me, don’t cut me, please don’t--”_

It was Claude’s decision to watch the vivisection. Mouth set in a grim line, he made no sound as the scalpel sliced into the man’s white, flabby midsection, nor did he say anything when the acid spilled out, bubbling and burning, nearly melting the surgeon’s fingers clean off.

That night, Claude woke up in a cold sweat. He had dreamed that he was lying in a bathtub full of acid, his internal organs boiling like vegetables for a stew.

The man’s name was Bill.

2.

There was a boy in Roanoke who had a telepathic link with rats.

Claude and Bennet arrived at his mother’s apartment posing as police officers and quietly took him away. Though he was the youngest person they had bagged and tagged—pimply face, greasy hair, looking a bit like a rat himself—he was one of the most dangerous, because he had already killed. According to Thompson, the boy had sent a pack of rats after his boss at Burger King, and they had bitten him to death.

Claude watched Bennet very carefully as they delivered the boy to Thompson. As always, his partner’s face was stony, unreadable—but there was a tightness around his temples and visible perspiration on his upper lip that did not escape Claude’s detection.

Ah, yes, Claude thought, remembering. Bennet has a little boy now.

For some reason, Bennet’s discomfort made Claude feel a little more at ease around him.

The boy’s name was Tyler.

3.

There was a woman in Los Angeles who could run at the speed of light.

She was a professional athlete, tall, long-legged, chestnut-haired, who had come under suspicion for using steroids. When Claude visited her, he came alone.

“I was just a kid--I used to _dream_ about being the fastest woman alive,” she said as she paced across her living room, fighting back tears. “But not like this. Oh god, my career…”

Claude put his hands on her shoulders, turning her body around so that she would look at him. “It’s more than your career. Listen to me. If you ever think someone is following you--if someone so much as looks at you _cross-eyed_ \--you run. Across the globe if you have to. But run.”

Two weeks later, Claude opened up his morning paper to read news of her death. A disgraced athlete had died of a drug overdose; it was third page news at best. Claude let the paper slip from his fingers and fall to the floor, where it would stay for the next three days. When he saw her again, it would be when he looked into her cell.

The woman’s name was Raquel.

4.

There was a young man in Chicago who could translate any spoken or written language he came in contact with.

Claude took him as far away as he could risk. He was an attractive young man, with blonde hair and a mouth full of straight, white teeth, but he was scared. During the long drive he bit his nails into slivers.

“I guess those Spanish classes I took in high school will finally pay off,” he said as they entered Mexico City. It was a weak joke; neither of them laughed. “I won’t see you again, will I?”

“I’d be a right lousy invisible man if you did,” Claude replied. He left the young man standing outside a shabby hotel. “Take care of yourself,” he had told him as he vanished from sight.

Nearly a year passed before Claude learned about how he died.

Thompson sat at his desk as he debriefed Bennet, reading from a file sheet. “I sent Stark and Rogers to the apartment in Tijuana. He put up a surprising fight, though—in the end, he jumped out the ninth story window rather than be taken.” Sighing, Thompson dropped the file on his desk. He looked squarely at Bennet. “Funny thing is, though, he said a name right before he jumped. Real funny coincidence.” His eyes narrowed. “Do you want to guess what it was?”

In the far corner of the office, where Claude stood still, silent, and invisible, his stomach tightened into a fist.

The young man’s name was Donovan.

5.

There was a man in New York City who thought he was going to explode.

He was an insolent pup, demanding and impulsive—a pain in the arse, really—but Claude tried to train him. Despite the bodies he had left in his wake and the blood that still dripped from his transparent fingers, Claude thought, however briefly, that he might make a difference with this one.

“How many others have you taught?” the man asked him. They were in his apartment, with the man sitting on his couch and watching the steam rise from his cup of tea. Claude didn’t sit; he preferred to stay on his feet because he never knew when he might have to run.

How many others did you hunt down? How many did you kill? Those would have been far better questions to ask him. He sighed, annoyed. “How many times will you ask me that question?”

The man shrugged. “I just want to know. I want to have a better idea of how many of us are out there.”

“Much fewer than there should be,” Claude spat.

Soon after, Claude abandoned him; it had been risky enough to train him, but once Bennet reappeared with that all too familiar tranquilizer gun Claude knew it was over. He walked away from the man without a backwards glance.

Days went by; October became November, and with November came the cataclysm. Claude had retreated to Ontario, resuming his vagabond ways and once again becoming the invisible face in the crowd. But then something changed; there was an odd quietness around the area, a sense of urgency and dread among them that was palpable to Claude despite his deliberate ignorance of human affairs.

He plucked a newspaper from a bewildered woman’s hands, scanning the words and images once he had ducked into an alley. ‘EXPLOSION IN NYC’ the headline read, and the words that followed were equally ominous: bomb of unknown origins, thousands dead, terrorism suspected, a man named Petrelli calling for vast Federal aid…

Claude threw the paper away. “So much for that,” he said, paying no attention to the tightness in his throat. It was just as well, he thought. After all, the only person Claude had ever managed to save was himself—and he hadn’t quite succeeded at that, either.

The man’s name was Peter.


End file.
